College entrance essays ask which historical figures you would like to meet. Magazine reporters ask which three people you'd like to have for dinner. An myspace.com has a listing for each profile, "Who I'd like to meet." It should be "Whom".

We envision our discussions with these people, brooding over the grand questions we'd ask. Why did the Beatles break up? Why did Barry Sanders have to retire so soon? What was T.S. Eliot trying to convey with "The Wasteland"?

“What does Shakespeare’s ‘Julius Caesar’ have to do with anything? Will I ever use this? Does this literature stuff matter at all?” My questions regularly flummoxed my high school English teachers. Convinced my classmates had the same questions, I voiced them regularly.

A friend and I visited his mom in the stroke recovery wing at the hospital. A few days earlier, a stroke impaired her ability to function day-to-day. We arrived, greeted her, then took her down the hall to the cafeteria for dinner.

“Arrested development.” This prison contains our spiritual lives and stifles our usefulness to God. Most of us squander away our lives in this condition, rather than bearing the uncomfortable thought of growth and challenge. Our laziness hurts the mission.

Have you ever wanted heaven having grown sick of sin this world? It may have simply inhabited the air around you, or you may have tripped over it too many times, but either way, it gave you a semi-nauseating feeling in your stomach. You see it around you, in advertising, in movies and on television, at almost any social event, and you think, "There's got to be more than this. This is just disgusting and heartbreaking." You start to hate this non-life offered as a poor substitute for real life in this convoluted world.